


5th period massacre

by todsicher



Series: I never told you what I saw in the dark [1]
Category: LeATHERMØUTH, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Fight Club influenced, Gerard's POV, M/M, Murder, Murder-Suicide, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todsicher/pseuds/todsicher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a desperate attempt to make the voices stop</p>
            </blockquote>





	5th period massacre

**Author's Note:**

> Important: this work does not condone violence at school or anywhere else, this is just about a very troubled person. I do not own Frank Iero or Gerard Way, nor did any of this happen, it's just fiction. 
> 
> And also hi, this is actually my first fanfiction ever so please don't be too harsh, but I am still open for constructive criticism and suggested improvements. English is not my native language.
> 
> xo

Silence.

Now there's just silence.

 

He's just looking around in complete satisfaction, nodding at the quietness filling this room because that's all there is. He's free now. He felt so good, he never thought that he would ever feel this good. Frank's arm's getting heavier by the second and his fingers are getting weak. He's standing there, he's still not moving. The only audible thing was his laboured breath. That's it. His chest is rising and falling with every breath and it's visible through the fabric of his shirt that he's wearing under a thick jacket.

 

It was winter. Frank doesn't like winter, he gets sick a lot, his immune-system is ridiculous at times. Last time he got sick, he could easily just limit his nutrition to IBU drops. It's the same every year.

His throat is sore, his doctor appointment would have been half an hour ago, he never went to that appointment.

 

The silence is getting louder, at least it seems so to Frank. It's ringing in his ears and he's sure that he's shaking right now. But he's not shaking. He's perfectly still. A pleasant frisson is crawling down his spine, suddenly he's warm.

 

_Fag_

_you're nothing_

_no one cares about you_

_we will give you hell_

 

Hands over his ears, a choked scream is escaping his throat. I think he's hearing voices. Voices like a quiet echo but getting louder and louder until they sound like ten times overwritten records of slurs. They are always whispering the same things, Frank couldn't tell which is which anymore. They keep occupying his mind and then they're screaming at him.

 

So he's screaming, too. It was a poor attempt.

 

A silent whimper and then he dropped his arms again, the one arm is still heavier than the other one. It was the only thing he could hold onto, so he held the cool pistol grip until his knuckles turned white. It was the only thing graspable, the only thing reminding him that this was real. He went to his dad's closet, he picked up his .45 and 3 boxes of bullets. It was all real. He never thought he'd have the balls to do this. I understand why he couldn't stand another day living this.

 

Of course there are people who have their grand time at school and there are people who are rather forced to go there, just like he was forced into lockers so many times. They killed his hopes, and they even broke his jaw once. The teachers didn't care, they thought that was the thing to do. Teenagers are all the same, they are kids and kids don't know better. Kids label things and persons so they feel like they know everything there is to know about something, so they wouldn't actually have to find out anything about it. Frank just happened to be the misfit. He didn't fit into their standards. That's why they thought it was okay. He never told his parents, they can't help. And the older he got the more useless they got. Truth be told he never had many friends, he had people who tolerated him. He has been different since the day he was born but I wouldn't say insufferable. And he turned distant, an underdog.

 

Frank's not shaking anymore. He now noticed the wet stains on his face and wiped them away and then he watched them drying on his calloused fingertips. It's been twenty minutes since he did it. Now he's looking at the clock, too. It will be a while until someone will find him here.

 

When he opened the gym doors, you should have seen those fucks run. He drilled some silencer holes into the gun barrel, so the gas would dissolve and quiet down his shots. But it would still work, you just need to drill the holes right or else you would blow up your hand.

The first one got a gunshot to the face, what an unfortune to stand in perfect view for Frank. He was dead before he knew it, everyone was silent.

Different emotions displayed on their faces, from fascination to absolute horror, just like a car accident. People gawk because then they'd feel better about themselves because they are not the ones who are dead. It's the same with dumb reality shows. When the dead body hit the floor with a loud crack the crowd started screaming, because this is happening. They are about to die, to be killed. I guess at this point everything began with the sound of the bone splintering of his skull. Figure he doesn't care anymore.

 

His blood is pooling on the ground and Frank stepped into the puddle in order to directly get his next victims. His one boot is squeaking with every step he takes and leaves marks on the hall floor. The second one got shot in the shoulder and he still died. If people get shot into the shoulder in movies, they would suffer in the corner they crawled away into. But this was real life, and this guy who shoved him into a locker died, because he hit an artery in the shoulder.

 

The third one ran away, which made it harder to aim for Frank, so he ended up getting shot in the foot. Though the bullet splitted in his foot and found its way up his leg, it literally just exploded like a small firework in his foot. Almost blew away his whole leg. I don't understand how neutralization shots are done at this point.

 

The next one also ran, but he wasn't the fittest guy either and so he ended up falling flat on his face. Spread out like prey. So Frank went over to him, he kicked him in the ribcage and caused him to roll over on his back. Honestly, this was an easier target than Frank was for the bullies and yet they still choosed to make Frank's life into living hell. Anyways, Frank grabbed that guy at the collar and pressed the gun to his chest. His dark hair fell into his face, I said that he needed a haircut or a change from this mohawk that he never bothered to style, but he never went to a hairdresser. Funny though, he's got the devil's curl now. The guy begged him to just let him live but Frank fired away, he didn't care how much the guy talked, it was annoying and redundant. When he took his last breath, he was spurting thick blood and saliva. It landed on Frank's shirt. But it's hard to see blood on a black T-shirt.

 

Shot in the head, shot in the stomach, shot multiple times in the back.

 

He could still remember every single thing. It just happened twenty minutes ago. There was blood everywhere, it was unavoidable. He's covered in the mess he made. The blood traveled up to the seat of his trousers.

 

Maybe he should run away, away from everything, and running until his legs gave in and he got to a highway where he'd eventually be hit by a car. But he stayed. The silence won't let him go. He had to stand here and enjoy the silence. Deep down he felt proudness and this is the first time that he wasn't scared. He didn't have to run away if he's not scared. It's okay now.

 

"It's over now.", Frank whispered. His throat was still sore, he's just saving his voice here. He was done here.

 

The air is stale with a metallic smell, blood-smell hung in the air.

 

"It's over now.", I repeat. And it really was. Everyone in the school knew who Frank was, they knew that school was hell for him, but they still walked by as if he wasn't there. Sure, they felt sorry for him, but that's it. No one bothered, it makes no difference. What just happened should come as no surprise. They hit him in the face, they spit on him and kicked him while he was down. Only I know how it is to be in fear every god damn day. I know it because Frank knows it. Lately his hate only seemed to aggravate Frank further. His arm is getting heavier the more he lifts it.

 

"What are you going to do?", I asked.

 

"Shut up.", he said and whimpered.

 

They're all dead now, lying on the floor, eyes wide open. Frank could still hear their screams and see their agonized faces. They screamed more than he ever could, regardless what they did to him. He wondered who ended up to be the coward now. The silence wasn't there anymore, he was sick to the stomach. He just wanted to curl up and vomit and die.

 

"Calm down, Frank.", I tried to comfort him.

 

"Stop talking, shut up, shut the fuck up!", he yelled and pointed his gun at me. Frank panted and tensed up so his arm wouldn't shake.

 

"Oh, Frank.", I say and moved towards him.

 

"It will be okay. You're free now. You're alright, it's alright. We are friends." Then I reached out and cupped his cheek in my hand. It was warm and soft, Frank had a strong jaw, too. But he still pointed that gun at me.

 

"I'm sorry.", he whispered as he pulled the trigger.

 

I didn't make a sound. He didn't shoot me, even though it's echoing in this vacant hall. Frank felt a sharp pain in his chest, everything hurt. Now his stomach churned in pain, his guts were in knots. He was about to loose all coordination when he tried to talk to me again.

His vision went blurry and didn't focus again. "I missed you. How could I miss you?", he tried to walk towards me but his body won't move. It's like he's frozen to the ground, he's sinking and falling to his knees. He fell over, put his head to the ground and closed his eyes and he stayed like this, it felt so good. Blood trickled down from the corner of Frank's mouth.

 

"Why, why, why, why-", Frank whined desperately, blood was gushing out of his mouth and nose now. He tried to breathe in but the blood in his nose made him cough.

"It's alright Frankie. We'll go home now.", I shushed and He nodded when I mentioned 'home', his hair rubbing against the slick hall floors and rasp against his forehead. The ends of his hair soaking with blood.

 

"Please.", he sobbed at last. There's nothing left to say. There's nothing we can do now.

 

***

 

Frank doesn't know what really happened. He doesn't know that he is lying on the gym floor, bleeding, shot by the same bullets he had shot the others. He shot himself. He committed suicide.

Frank struggled, moaned, he tried to talk, over and over again but his nose was clogged with blood. It gathered at the rim of his mouth, wandered up his teeth and soaked into his gums. His breathing flattened, he tried to smile. Nothing could ever have taken away the pain is his heart, but their blood on his hands, well at least it's a start. He finally found his smile, it's pure and blood stained.

 

And then it was real quiet.

 

_Silence._

 

_Finally._


End file.
